


Non Te Possum Amittere

by bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bellamy being an awesome big brother, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:57:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/pseuds/bellamythology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The many ways they say "I love you." (Oneshot collection inspired by Tumblr prompts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "cross my heart and hope to die."

**Author's Note:**

> Title is Latin, because Bellamy Blake is a nerd and so am I. And because I am a nerd, the lack of macrons will bug me - but not enough to actually put them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psych! This is actually Blake siblings fluff and not Bellarke.

Never a very heavy sleeper even at eight years old, Bellamy was not surprised to open his eyes and see that his alarm clock read 4 a.m. (Annoyed, yes, but not at all surprised.) Then he felt the bed shift, and rolled over to find himself face-to-face with his baby sister.

“Hey, O. Bad dreams?” He whispered.

She nodded, eyes wide and fearful. “Can I stay with you tonight, Bell?”

“Of course. You’re safe here.”

“Promise?”

He extended his pinky. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

She linked her finger with his, a small smile on her face. “Good night, Bell.”

“’Night, O.” 

 

“I don’t want to!”

Aurora threw her ten-year-old son a despairing glance. _Please talk some sense into your sister._

With one last longing glance toward his friends on the four-square court, Bellamy turned to his sister. “Remember that time we were at the playground with some of your friends from soccer, and they were all too scared to go down the big-kid slide?”

She nodded slowly, not sure where he was going with this.

“And then you just looked at me, and I promised I’d catch you at the bottom. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“And then after a couple times, you told me, ‘Go, Bell, I got this.’ Remember that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is kinda like that. I’ll be here for you, at recess and at lunch and after school, and in between if you _really_ need me.” He managed not to cringe at the thought of being called out of class during history because his baby sister decided to throw a tantrum — mainly by reminding himself that he was pretty much the only one who could calm her down when she was in one of her stubborn moods. “And one day you won’t need me anymore.”

She shook her head. “I’ll always need you, Bell. Promise you’ll catch me?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He held up a hand for a high five. “Up high — down low — too slow!” She giggled, and he hugged her. “Now go get ’em. Show them what us Blakes are made of, yeah?”

“Okay!” And with that, she was off to her first day of kindergarten. 

 

“Are you dating Clarke?”

Startled, Bellamy paused the history documentary and glanced up sharply from his physics homework. (Multitasking — the one useful skill they were learning in high school, Clarke often joked.) “Why?” he asked warily.

“I’m not stupid, Bell. I’ve seen you holding hands when you think no one’s looking. I just want to know if I should start making a list of friends to go out with when you want to . . . do things. Also if I should find someone else to drive me to school, or home, or soccer practice, or dance. And if —"

“Hey.” He extended a hand, and she let him pull her onto the couch next to him. “Look, O, just because I have a girlfriend now — which, it’s time, really; I’m eighteen and I’ve liked her for ages — doesn’t mean that I won’t still spend lots of time with you. I’ll still drive you to rehearsals and go to all your games and be there when you get out of class.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

She opened her mouth, but he beat her to it: “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Grinning in spite of themselves, Bellamy wrapped an arm around his sister as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I think we’re getting a little old for that,” she said.

“You’re telling me.” 

 

Through his haze, Bellamy vaguely registered his sister hauling him to his feet, away from the kitchen counter, with an exasperated shake of her head, muttering under her breath about lightweights and twenty-two-year-old idiots who didn’t know their own limits and shouldn’t be left alone for any decent amount of time. “What the hell is wrong with you, Bell? Is this what you do when your roommates are all out of town?”

He frowned. “You have a boyfriend.”

“Yes, I do.”

“He’s tall.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He’s strong.”

“Yes, he is.”

His frown deepened. “He’s _nice_.”

Octavia sighed. “Yes, Lincoln’s awesome, which I already knew and you have finally seemed to realize. Did you have an actual point?”

“I can’t beat him up. I mean, he’s so great that I have no justification for it, and also I actually _cannot_ beat him up because he would kick my ass.”

“Hey.” Letting him collapse onto the sofa, she curled up next to him the way she used to during family movie nights, before she grew into what Bellamy once called her “innate coolness.” (It was just one time, when she was feeling particularly down after Atom rejected her. More frequently, he would point out that he hadn’t gotten all the nerd genes in the family — usually in self-defense when she teased him, but still.) “C’mon, Bell, what’s really bugging you?”

“You’re seventeen.”

“No shit, Sherlock. You’re the one who organized all my birthday parties; I thought you knew that.”

“You’re a big kid now,” he mumbled. “You’re never around anymore.”

“Neither are you,” she pointed out, more gently than she usually would have. “That’s kind of the point of growing up, Bell — we don’t need to stick together all the time anymore.”

“That’s stupid” was his defiantly childish retort. That was Bellamy for you — straightforward and to the point, even when it made him sound about eight years old.

“Bellamy.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned slightly to look at her. “You’re always going to be my big brother, the one who I go to when everything’s gone wrong and nobody else can make it all better. I love you, you big dork, okay? And I always will, even if we don’t spend as much time together as we used to.”

He mumbled something, too low for her to hear.

“What?”

He avoided her gaze. “Promise?”

She couldn’t help her surprised exhale of laughter: evidently, he’d _actually_ turned into back into his eight-year-old self. (But if she’d known sooner that he got so _cute_ when he was drunk. . .) “Cross my heart and hope to die.”


	2. "i saved you a piece."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who requested it on Tumblr; sorry it's so late. It's probably not what you expected based on the prompt. But I was feeling a bit of (short-lived) nostalgia for my newspaper days, so this happened.

Anyone could have seen the malice in Bellamy’s smirk as Clarke tried to sneak in the back door. “Nice of you to finally join us, princess. You do realize that if you keep this up, you reduce your own chances of making editor? Also, might I remind you that editors assign next year’s staff roles, and I certainly won’t give you any position I don’t think you’re . . . _qualified_ for.”

“Go screw yourself, Blake,” she muttered, but under her breath — as managing editor, he really could do what he threatened. And he just might, if only because he hated her so much. (At least the feeling was mutual.) “I’m here now,” she said louder, glancing at the discussion board. “What’s left?”

He shook his head, still smug. “Monroe’s covering band competitions this month, as usual; Monty’s on science beat, so he’s got a monopoly on the new science electives; Wells is still our main ASB source; Raven and Wick are teaming up on the big robotics story. So that’s all the _interesting_ ones.”

He’d totally assigned those articles first on purpose; he must have overheard her and Wells discussing which ones they wanted to cover this issue. But Clarke refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her frustration. “I said, what’s _left_ , Blake?”

He pretended to think about it for a minute. “Well, I suppose you could always do the cafeteria price-change story. For some reason, no one’s signed up for that one yet.”

 

“Late again, princess.”

She didn’t even deign to reply this time, just logged into her Google Drive account to look at which stupid story he’d gotten her stuck with this time.

 

“Why are you always late?” For once there was little antagonism in his voice; there might have been more than was audible, but it was masked by genuine curiosity.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care?”

“Humor me. Next year’s staff assignments _are_ coming up soon, you know.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was a shoo-in for editor-in-chief — a position that would have given him a ridiculous amount of power over the rest of the staff — Clarke told herself, she would never have given in. But as it happened, he was, and she did. “I’m in six different clubs, in addition to being in three AP classes and trying to organize that new tutoring program that Kane asked me to get going. Plus, you know, my mom’s already caught up in the college apps craze and she’s been bugging me to start doing research on programs and scholarship opportunities and all that crap. So I’ve got to balance everything going on, and —”

He nodded, and she seized the chance to stop talking.

They stood in silence for a moment. As Clarke turned to go, Bellamy called her name and she turned around, raising an eyebrow in silent question. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think you’re a great reporter. And I’m sure you’re going to be an awesome editor.”

She nodded, offered him a half-smile — the likes of which he’d never before seen directed at him, and perhaps luckily so; it was so much harder to not _like_ someone when you weren’t acquainted with the fluttery feeling you got when you made them smile.

 

_A year later_

“Sorry,” Clarke gasped as she burst into the journalism room. “Global health club meeting ran —” She paused, noticing that everyone else had already gotten to work. “Damn,” she said, claiming her usual spot next to Bellamy. “Did I miss out on all the good assignments?”

“Well, most of the really interesting ones are taken,” he admitted, pulling up the spreadsheet of articles and the reporters assigned to cover them.

She sighed. “What’s left?”

He smirked, but there was a more playful edge to it than there used to be. “Well, you could always review the new Marvel movie, if you’re interested.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What’s the catch?”

“Talk to Wells and make sure he doesn’t kill me? He wanted it, as did half the rest of the staff.”

Suddenly putting the pieces together, Clarke blinked in surprise. “Did you—”

“I saved you a piece,” he confirmed. Then the smugness faded from his face, and he looked almost uncertain. “And, um, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to —”

Her eyes widened briefly, then she was the one smirking. “Bellamy Blake, are you asking me on a date?”

“I was trying to,” he grumbled. “I’ve _been_ trying.”

“And failing miserably,” she added cheerfully. “I’ll see you Friday.” With a quick kiss dropped casually affectionately on his cheek, she was gone.

He remained where he was, looking after her, for much longer than he would ever admit.


	3. “it’s okay.  i couldn’t sleep anyway.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 times Bellarke stayed up together + 1 time they didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to [Anya](http://itwontsurvivemee.tumblr.com) for talking me through writer's block on this one, even if I did fuss over it for eons before posting.

i.

Clarke had been tossing and turning for what felt like an hour when she was startled by a quiet _thud_ outside her door. Reaching for the softball bat she kept in the corner (a reminder of her high-school athlete days; though it didn’t see its intended purpose much these days, it came in handy for moments like these), she eased the door open to peek outside.

In the hall sat Bellamy, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. It looked like an awfully uncomfortable position to fall asleep in — but then again, this wasn’t quite the first time Clarke had found him like this, and she had a feeling he hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

“Hey. Bellamy.”

He stirred, blinking awake. “Oh, hey. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“I figured.” Clarke took in the state of his hair, tussled beyond his usual artful messy or even his natural bedhead. “Nightmares?” she guessed. (She knew the signs. And she knew Bellamy.)

He nodded morosely, fisting a hand in his hair. Suddenly his eyes widened and his grip tightened. “Shit, did I wake you? Sorry, I didn’t —”

Clarke shook her head, automatically reaching out to uncurl his fingers before he yanked it all out. (Those curls were a gift to humanity, okay, and they needed to be protected if Bellamy wasn’t going to take care of them.) “No, it’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

As she pulled him to his feet, she noticed that he was no longer in the pajamas she definitely hadn’t watched him put on earlier. (If she was going to room with someone so hot, she figured the view was the least she was owed in exchange for the frustration of not _having_ him the way she wanted to. And if Bellamy wanted to change with his bedroom door open, well, that wasn’t on her.) “Heading out?”

“I was going to go to that diner we used to have our study dates at, before we moved in together. But then I realized there wasn’t much point in going without you, since we always split our orders and, you know, it was our place. But then I didn’t want to wake you up, so —”

“So you fell asleep on the floor outside my room instead.”

“Like a total creeper,” he admitted cheerfully. “Anyway, I’ll just — uh —”

She shook her head. “Give me five minutes to put on real clothes?”

His grin was answer enough.

 

ii.

Bellamy’s first, slightly panicked thought was that someone had broken into the apartment. Then he recognized the low murmur and the flashes of light peeking under his door as coming from the TV. Pulling on a _Delinquents_ sweatshirt — left over from that one summer he, Clarke, Octavia, and a bunch of their friends had tried to start a rock band, failing miserably but enjoying themselves completely; he wasn’t totally sure why he still had it when all the others had lost/donated/burned theirs, but such was life — he padded into the living room to find Clarke curled up on the couch. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Rewatching the _Ocean’s_ series” was her somewhat absentminded reply to his unasked question. “I’m almost done with _Twelve._ Then I think I’m gonna go with — I dunno. Something Studio Ghibli, maybe.”

“Rough day?” he asked as he settled next to her on the beat-up old couch they’d struggled to haul up the stairs when they first moved in.

“One of the worst,” she sighed, letting her head flop back against the couch cushions.

“Hold that thought.” Bellamy went into the kitchen to rummage briefly through the cupboards, emerging triumphantly with a half-full gallon jug of popcorn kernels. (“What, you want to buy the bagged kind? With all the unnecessary butter and wasted kernels that don’t pop? We’re not _savages_ , Clarke.”) “I think there’s hot chocolate mix next to the stove, too.”

After about half a second’s consideration, Clarke paused the movie to join him in the kitchen.

Their friends would’ve said they were disgustingly domestic, which was probably why they weren’t sharing the apartment with any of the others. To the two of them, it was natural — just another thing that made them _Clarke and Bellamy._ (“Bellamy and Clarke,” the former would always argue. “Whether you’re going alphabetically or by seniority, I still come first.” “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Clarke would reply, patting his head patronizingly, her touch lingering because they both had a major weakness for human contact.)

As Clarke warmed milk over the stove, she shivered and held her hands out over the burners. She hadn’t intended to stay up so long; her initial plan had been to maybe Netflix an episode or two of some show that would help her sleep, so she hadn’t bothered with putting on warmer clothes. Definitely a decision she was regretting now.

She startled as a sweatshirt came into her field of vision, lowered in front of her face from behind. Half-turning, she found Bellamy grinning wryly at her, hair extra mussed from pulling the sweatshirt over his head. “C’mon, Clarke. Don’t try and pretend you’re not cold.”

“What about you?” she asked even as she tugged it on gratefully.

He shrugged. “I run warmer than you anyway. I’ll be fine.”

 

iii.

The living room lamp clicked on as Bellamy retrieved his dropped keys, making him blink.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming home tonight,” Clarke said from the couch where she was sprawled, evidently having fallen asleep there without meaning to.

“Nah.” Bellamy grinned. “You know I don’t put out until at least the third date, Griffin.”

“Yeah, but I figured you might’ve made an exception. You seemed to really like Gina.”

He shrugged. “She’s cool.” Oh, that smirk — Clarke had a feeling she knew what was coming next. “But you’re still my _favorite_.”

“Ugh, will you never let that go? I was drunk, you were warm and giving me a piggyback ride, and —”

Chuckling, he tugged lightly at her mussed braid as he passed her on his way to the bathroom. “You didn’t have to wait up. I’m a big boy, Clarke. I can take care of myself.”

She ducked her head, cheeks pinking. “Well, I didn’t want to be woken if you came lumbering in at two a.m. — which I was anyway, so, you know, whatever.”

When he came out, she was still on the couch. “Details,” she demanded as soon as she noticed him. “What was she wearing, how —”

“How is it you’re more invested in how my date went than I am?”

She just shrugged, pulling her legs in to make room for him next to her. “C’mon, Bellamy.”

He sat. “Okay, so you know that globe pendant she has, the one you’ve always wanted…”

 

iv.

When Clarke wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water at 3 am, she didn’t expect to see Bellamy sitting at the counter, curly head drooping over a book. She was, however, unsurprised at the sight — he’d been doing this more and more as finals approached rapidly.

“Bell.” She shook him awake gently. “C’mon, your bed’s much more comfortable than this stool, I promise.”

“Don’ wanna,” he mumbled, eyes only half open. “’M fine here.”

“You won’t be in the morning,” Clarke said, amused. “You complain about your old-man back and neck enough as it is, without spending the night in here.”

He continued to grumble but allowed her to pull him from his perch. (It was actually a rather precarious seat; Clarke was half-surprised but very thankful that he hadn’t fallen off the stool as he’d been falling asleep. It would really be pushing his luck to count on remaining upright until morning — she would’ve bet on him ending up on the floor in a matter of minutes, especially considering his tendency to shift in his sleep.)

It took some heavy lifting on Clarke’s part — there was just _so much_ of Bellamy; he was one of the most solid people she knew, fittingly enough — but she finally deposited her roommate in his own bedroom. “Night, Bell.”

“Night, Clarke.”

“And _actually_ go to bed, don’t you dare start studying again.”

He brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Promise,” he said, with a little-boy grin that most definitely did not make her heart turn over.

 

v.

A loud thud from Bellamy’s room startled Clarke out of much-needed sleep. She lay in bed, awakened and annoyed, wondering what her roommate could be possibly doing at this time of night.

There was another thud, and the yowl of a cat.

Exasperated, she threw off the covers and went to investigate, grabbing the jacket thrown over the back of her desk chair to ward off the late-night chill.

Bellamy’s door was closed. When he didn’t respond to her knocking, she turned the knob without trying again. (The sooner she put an end to whatever harebrained scheme he was carrying out now, the sooner she could get back to sleep.)

Eyes fixed on Clarke, Catlas pawed at the thick book on the ground and let out a single piteous mewl.

Kneeling down to pick up the volume — Bellamy’s beloved _Iliad_ ; the cat must have knocked it from its usual place of honor on his nightstand — Clarke glanced around the room. Other than the _Odyssey_ still on the floor and the cat now rubbing up against her legs, there was nothing else to see. The bookshelf was neatly filled, the desk was clear save a few stacks of papers, and the bed … the bed was empty.

“Where’s Bellamy, Catlas?” Stacking the books back on the nightstand, Clarke scooped up the cat, letting him snuggle against her chest.

The cat didn’t answer, except to butt his head against her chin. She rubbed his head soothingly. “Come on, Catlas, let’s go find our boy.”

 

“I thought you might be up here. Pondering the vastness of the universe?”

“More like its futility.” Bellamy didn’t look away from the skyline as Catlas let out his _Bellamy_ meow, but he did lift his arm so Clarke could snuggle into his side. Which she did, of course, after unfolding the blanket she’d brought to pull around their shoulders.

“Ohhh. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” But he nosed at her hair the way he only did when he was bothered by something, and she maneuvered a hand out from under the blanket to brush through his curls the way he liked but was always too stubborn to ask for. He nuzzled into her touch wordlessly. _Like owner, like pet_.

So they sat in silence for a few minutes, until Bellamy figured he’d counted a hundred and twenty-eight airplanes passing overhead. Suddenly he needed to get out of his own head. “When was the last time we talked about Perseus?”

Clarke grinned, leaning against his shoulder. “I don’t mind hearing it again, as long as you do Persephone next.”

When he leaned over to kiss her, it was a total surprise and totally unsurprising at the same time. It was a gasp of air, it was drowning in her feelings for him. It was the late nights he stayed up to keep her company; it was the times she hauled him to his room for a proper night’s sleep. It was everything they were to each other, and everything they would be.

It was them.

 

+1.

Clarke was still asleep when Bellamy rolled onto his side to look at her. Golden hair falling out of the braid she slept in, fair lashes curling on her cheeks; the thought wrinkles between her eyes, always present in her waking hours, smoothed out by the tranquility of sweet dreams.

Smiling — a rare, soft smile with absolutely no pretense, none of the stoic or smug attitude he projected in _his_ waking hours — he dropped a light kiss on her forehead.

Her fingers tightened briefly in his shirt, then relaxed as her dreams evened out with the subconscious knowledge that he wasn’t going anywhere. Bellamy tucked himself around her, as close as he could get, and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly based on [this list](http://blondetins.tumblr.com/post/125868124867/100-ways-to-say-i-love-you), but other prompts may sneak in here.
> 
> I don't actually know how many will end up being in this set, since I'll be returning to it whenever inspiration strikes. Feel free to prompt me on [Tumblr](http://bellamythology.tumblr.com)!


End file.
